


i just wanna see the grooves between your hands, your teeth (tell me, do you think about me?)

by saintsurvivor



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bonding, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Good Friend Wilt Bozer (MacGyver TV 2016), Hair-pulling, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mac in Heels, Male Friendship, Men Crying, Nonbinary Angus MacGyver, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Self Confidence, Wilt Bozer & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Friendship, men in makeup, subtle crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27543829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsurvivor/pseuds/saintsurvivor
Summary: There’s been thousands of times, especially back before when Bozer didn’t actually know what Mac and the others did for a living, and he’d make the costumes and outfits for the film sets and had needed someone to help with the styling and seeing how the fabrics would look draped on an actual human body. That had been where Mac had come in, having done this since they were kids.
Relationships: Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Wilt Bozer & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	i just wanna see the grooves between your hands, your teeth (tell me, do you think about me?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegoldenrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoldenrin/gifts).



> **Author's Note 1:** Sooooooo. This is apparently longer than I thought it would ever be, and more about Bozer and Mac's friendship at the start because I needed them bonding. I just love them so much! Anyway, this is like..actually you know what, I _don't_ know what this is, but it's finished thank god. Shout out to Goose_Boy and thegoldenrin for being my cheerleaders and not minding me shouting at them when I just wanted this finished and out of my google documents lmao.  
>  **Author's Note 2:** my tumblr is [bloodiedmac](http://bloodiedmac.tumblr.com), come yell at me! :)

“Hey, Boze.”

Bozer, doubled over his standing desk with a magnifying glass in one hand and a needle in the other, curses, leaping up. He spun round, glass and needle having gone flying across the room.

“God _damnit_ , Mac,” He scowls. “You know I don’t like it when you sneak up on me, man. Like a freakin’ ninja, I swear.” 

Mac, grin on his face and hands up in the air, pushes himself off the door jam and into the Make-up and Wardrobe room. It was a large room, good lighting with heavy duty worktop stations periodically positioned so no one would knock against each other and a large set of separate changing rooms, and, further back, half hidden behind a partition of partially frosted glass, was Hair and Make-up, dozens of mirrors lined up against each other with the comfortiest swivel chairs Mac’s ever sat on, each stylists workstation impeccably tidy and organised.

“Sorry, Boze, couldn’t resist, you were so deep in your thoughts,” He comes o stand next to Bozer, who was slowly calming down, running his hands down his leather apron. “New project, looks amazing, man.”

Bozer switches his gaze from Mac to down at the fabric filling up his worktop, the shy peek of the bright white and yellow daisies against the deep navy blue seersucker cotton, the slight puff of the quarter sleeves, and brushing a hand over the slip of bulletproof mesh peeking out of it. 

“Yeah, tryin’ to see if I can blend cotton seersucker with the bulletproof mesh that I managed to blend with Leanna and Riley’s dresses for that one mission? It’s not goin’ too bad, but I haven’t been able to model it properly, and you know I hate using mannequins unless I have to.”

Mac slants an amused if ironic look Bozer’s way. Bozer doesn’t even try to hide his shit eating grin behind his hand.

“Yeah, man. I know all about your hatred of mannequins.” Mac honestly did. There’s been thousands of times, especially back before when Bozer didn’t actually know what Mac and the others did for a living, and he’d make the costumes and outfits for the film sets and had needed someone to help with the styling and seeing how the fabrics would look draped on an actual human body. _That_ had been where Mac had come in, having done this since they were kids.

Bozer had often mentioned, between a mouthful of pins with fabric draped across his shoulders as he used Mac as a human pincushion, that Mac had a really good body type, tall and slender with, whilst not wide, good shaped hips, a cinched waist and broad but not too broad shoulders. It had always been an exercise in both self-hatred and flattery as Mac tried not to combust with embarrassment. 

“Want any help? Not like I have anything better to do, what with Jack, Riley and Leanna not gonna be back for another few hours.” Mac tried not to pout too much, but by Bozer’s commiserating laugh hadn’t managed it entirely.

“I know, man. Freakin’ sucks, but at least it’s not too long.” 

Thankfully it was only going to be a short time; mostly because Riley had been called to FBI headquarters to assist their BAU analyst with a problem on a murder cold case and having known the woman from their hacktivist day. Jack had gone to make sure that there wasn’t any trouble, though he’d been reluctant because, as he’d said and to which Mac thought he was very much exaggerating, Mac could find trouble in an empty and padded room. 

Leanna had mostly gone for shits and giggles and because she’d been bored, especially after having been benched for at least a month from any long term deep cover missions out of state after she’d been burned by a idiot CIA agent who hadn’t realized Phoenix had already embedded an agent in the cell they’d tried to take down, and so served as another bodyguard for Riley, and to also annoy the sexist and probably racist top brass who didn’t think a woman as young as Leanna could be one of the top most agents in the Phoenix Foundation and not be an analyst. 

Mac hadn’t gone, mainly because he was still temporarily banned from the Quantico Headquarters for showing up one of their technical engineers by making their project _better_. Man, those guys can hold a grudge. So Mac had been snowed under with filling in paperwork, being a sort of gopher slash assistant to Matty, and trying to keep busy before coming to annoy his best friend.

“C’mon, then, you alright to strip to your undies?” Bozer rounds the table as he collected the dress, and the rest of his kit, Mac close at his heels as they headed towards the closest changing rooms. 

“Not like you ain’t seen me naked before, man.” Mac tells him, shutting the sliding door and trying to avoid looking into the floor to ceiling mirrors on the opposite sides of the small room. Bozer busies himself with laying out the navy cotton seersucker as Mac strips, shivering in the somewhat chilly air, clothes being carefully folded and placed on the little stool in the corner.

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, even though I’m sure Jack gets on your ass more than I even do, but you gotta eat more, jeez.” Bozer says through a mouthful of loose pins. Mac scowled, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to feel self conscious in just his silk briefs. Sure, he’s skinny, but he’s not that skinny. He tells Bozer just that.

“When I can see your ribs, man, you’re too skinny. Do I have to move back in with you just to fatten you up?” 

“God no, I don’t want to hear you and Leanna and I’m pretty sure you don’t wanna hear Jack and I.” Bozer side eyes him even as he passes Mac the dress to slip over his head. 

“I’ve heard enough talk of you and Jack from Jill walkin’ in on you in a _supply closet_.” Mac burned bright with embarrassment, almost dropping Bozer’s summer dress. “Also, didn’t take you for a silk man.”

Mac _does_ drop the summer dress this time, choking on his own breath even as his best friend cackles loudly. 

“It’s laundry day.” He says, sullenly. “And Jack thinks I need to start enjoying the ‘finer things in life’ as he says.”

“I don’t want to know,” Bozer says blankly, “I honestly don’t. Just put your damn dress on, dude.”

That should probably be more weird that it is, the whole thing should probably be more weird than it is, but Mac has never minded wearing what people think of as conventionally and socially feminine clothes, would sometimes like to wear them more often actually, though he’s never had the courage, and Bozer has always been open minded and uncritical of anything within reason that made his best friend happy. They’re close, brothers to each other, and though there had been that major hiccup of Mac having to lie to Bozer about being a government spy, they’ve always been in each other’s pockets and happy for it.

Mac unzipped the back of the dress, slipping it over his head, trying to shake his hair out of his face as he settled the fabric against his body, twisting it a little so it sat comfortably. He turned enough that Bozer could zip him up easily, fastening the tiny button at the top, hands warm through the lightweight cotton.

He has to stop from choking on his own tongue when he finally faces the mirror, face flushing red. Bozer tactfully turns away and messes with _something._

Mac’s never thought of himself as attractive. He knows, logically, that he has some degree of attractiveness; Jack after all had apparently been pining after and in love with him since they were both downrange and didn’t hate each other's guts anymore, and Nikki had told him he always looked good even when he didn’t feel it, but Mac has never really, truly looked in the mirror and thought _I like how I look today_ . But now. Now it’s just, _oh_.

He can’t help the way he smooths his shaking hands down the cotton fabric, catching on the hand embroidered daisies scattered throughout the dress, staring at how it contrasts so nicely with his skin. He touches lightly at the scooped and somewhat frilled neckline, a few inches beneath his collarbone, and scooping slightly to rest on the very edges of his shoulders and falls to mid bicep. 

“You look gorgeous, Mac, I ain’t gonna lie.” Bozer tells him, smiling as if he knows what Mac is thinking. Mac doesn’t say anything, just creeps his hands down to where the dress is still a little baggy around his waist, down to his hips and legs, where the summer dress swishes around mid thigh. His hair’s mussed from removing his henley, curling around to touch his jaw, and the tousled look suits the summery feel of the dress.

Bozer thankfully didn’t comment on the glassiness of Mac’s eyes and just bumps his shoulder against his best friends.

“Ready to get tailored, man? Shouldn’t be too long since it fits you pretty well.” 

“Yeah, man, do your thing.” Mac says roughly, and he holds still, facing the mirrors and seeing the slow movement of his shoulder blades in the opposite mirror beneath the seersucker cotton. 

Bozer sits on the swivel chair he’d brought in when Mac was admiring himself. Thankfully there’s very little that actually needs readjusting; like Bozer had said, it fits well, especially in the shoulder, and no loose threads are visible. It’s mostly cinching in the waist, which, as Bozer explains through another mouthful of pins, can be pleated easily and Mac wouldn’t actually have to take the dress off for Bozer to do that.

Bozer, when he really enjoys his work, is a very quick, thorough and conscientious worker, with a habit of muttering beneath his breath what he’s doing. Mac enjoys it, honestly. Getting to see another side of his best friend, especially where they work rather than at the house, is always a treat. 

Bozer’s really come into his own at Phoenix, Mac thinks, watching the steady work of his hands and the bob of his head as he moves to his own tune. Mac had always been terrified that Bozer knowing about what Mac really, honestly did would mean that Bozer would either distance himself from Mac for his own safety, or even just write Mac off as a deadweight.

In all of the scenarios that he’d listed in his head, had agonized over for months, especially when he and Jack first signed on at DXS, it had never really occurred to Mac that Bozer would keep him as a friend, would even be able to come work for the agency.

Don’t get him wrong, Mac hates that Bozer is in danger, hates that he can’t protect his best friend and brother, but as Jack and Bozer have repeatedly self, Bozer’s a big boy, he can look after himself, and this _was_ his decision at the end of the day.

“Alright there, man?” Bozer says, and he’s stopped for a moment, looking up at Mac with a furrow between his brow that meant he was worried. “Lookin’ like you’re deep in thought.”

Mac shrugs, ducking his head and roughly rubbing his hand against his eyes to hide the tears.

“Just,” Mac sighed, and he grabbed Bozer by the shoulders and hauled him in for a hug, pins sticking in him damned. “I love you man, yeah.” 

“I love you too, Mac. Always gonna be my brother.” Bozer doesn’t say anything else, just fit his head into Mac’s shoulder like they used to when they were kids. A hand stroked across the back of Mac’s hair even as Mac clenches his arm tightly around Bozer’s shoulders.

“Alright, now?” Bozer asks. He pulled back and shook Mac’s shoulders slightly.

“Yeah, dunno where that came from.” Mac rolls his shoulders, rubs at his eyes. 

“It’s okay, man, we all know it was because of my dopeass sewing skills,” Mac laughs, nodding as he sweeps his hands across the swishy dress again. 

Bozer slaps at his hand, grinning, before taking a seat on his swivel chair and finishing up the last few inches of pleating the waist in, very carefully making sure that he doesn’t sew Mac’s briefs to it either.

When finished, carefully sewed and tidied up with a pair of fabric scissors and all loose threads seen too, Bozer leans back, crowing up at Mac who grins at him all over again.

“Not bad, man,” Mac says, smacking Bozer on the shoulder when Bozer comes to stand up next to him, gazing into the mirror. He can’t pull his gaze away from how it makes his collarbones all the more delicate, and the way the translucent frill of the scooped neck looks against his skin. “Not bad _at all_.”

“All in a day’s work, dude,” Bozer sounds proud, and he should. He’s done some amazing work, it’s comfortable and movable, soft to the touch and the bullet proof mesh doesn’t interfere with either the overall look or make it uncomfortable. Mac honestly kind of wants to keep it. He tells Bozer as such, who grins, nudging him.

“Glad you like it so much, I made it for you,” He nudges Mac again, punching him on the shoulder softly. “I know you ain’t ever been brave enough to go dressed like this in public, but, if you ever wanna, y’know, wear what you want whenever we’re around or even at the Phoenix, you know we’d all fuck anyone up if they said anything.”

Mac doesn’t bother hiding how his face is red and how his eyes are burning. He fist bumps Bozer, sure that if he hugged him again it’d be game fucking over all over again. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky with his family.

Bozer doesn’t let him say anything anyway, just reaches for something beneath his chair that Mac hadn’t saw and pulls out-

“Hey, wanna go all the way?” He waggles two beautiful suede dark blue mary janes with a two inch heel in Mac’s face. 

“Oh hell yeah!” 

Bozer had to help him tie one heel up as he moved into the one, and it’s a little difficult mostly because swivel chairs aren’t really the best place to put on heels, who knew? Not Mac, that’s for damn sure.

Regardless, after a few minutes of breathless laughing as they literally chase the swivel chair around the small changing room, Mac is standing shoulder to shoulder with Bozer, two inches taller than he normally is, hands fluttering uncharacteristically around his waist as if he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch.

He plucks at the cotton front a little self consciously, fingers brushing against his chest; this is less than he’s ever worn in his entire life, even when by himself, but he feels happy with it, a surge of new confidence that Mac found he really, really _liked_ . The dress isn’t _revealing_ , not by a long shot, but the cut of it, how it flatters Mac in ways that clothes generally don’t, the way the mary jane heels lift his calves make his legs longer. He does honestly really love it.

“I’m still super jealous of those calves, man, but I could _not_ do all the runnin’ you do.” Bozer says as they push open the changing room door, Mac’s clothes a bundle in his arm. 

It’s a little chillier with the dress on, but Phoenix is kept generally at a warm ambient temperature, at least on the upper levels when the computer servers are kept in the sub basements and so it’s not enough to make Mac cold, just shiver a little.

“ _Oh wow!”_ Stacy, one of the newest make-up stylists hired on in the last month, gasps and she immediately nudges Jill, whose jaw drops before they both start grinning. 

“Mac, you look amazing!” Jill says, lunging forward to take Mac’s clothes from his hands so they can look at him properly. Mac releases them without effort, keeping a hold of his phone just in case, even as he ducks his head, suddenly shy like he always is when faced with compliments. He smooths his hand down the swish of the skirt again, feeling the cotton against his thighs. 

“Literally, freakin’ gorgeous, Mac,” Stacy says again, as if a little lost for words. “You gonna give us a spin? And like, those shoes are fantastic for your legs.”

Mac laughs, raising his chin and doing a little spin, careful to keep the skirt from riding too high up. 

“I’m so jealous of your legs.” Jill sighs enviously, chin in her hand. Stacy shoulder bumps her in commiseration. 

“Can definitely tell you’re a runner.” Stacy pointed out, not even trying to hide her grin.

“ _Right?”_ Bozer grins. “I said the same thing, and I’ve said it before, wouldn’t wanna do all that runnin’ though. I get enough as it is sparring with Leanna.”

“I don’t want to know about your sex life, Boze, I’ve heard enough of Mac and Jacks from _this_ one over here,” Stacy jerks her thumb at Jill, ignoring Mac who’d choked on his breath again to stop his laughter. “Anyway, I wanna ask, you can definitely say no without any issue but, i have this really nice lipgloss and eyeliner that’d go well with this dress?”

Mac, instead of answering, peers down at his phone for a few minutes. 

“I dunno, I’ve gotta be with Matty in an hour, you don’t think she’d mind me showing up like this, especially with make-up?” Maac gestured to all of him.

“I’m pretty sure that as long as you can still do your job and you aren’t goin’ on any missions, Matty isn’t gonna care.” Bozer says, and Jill, who probably knew Matty the longest out of all them, even _Jack_ , nods,

“She’s not going to care, Mac, really.” Jill reassured him. Still, he frowned.

“I know, I’m just a little…?”

“Self conscious?” Stacy leaned forward, patting Mac on the shoulder and smoothing down the slight puff in his mid length sleeve. “You’re a total knockout, MacGyver, you ain’t got anything to be self conscious about, but I definitely get you.”

“Let’s do it,” He says, before his courage failed him, and he lets Stacy tug him by the hand to sit in the closest workstation at the partitioned hair and beauty department. Jill and Bozer took seats around them, Jill peering down at her ever present tablet because, apparently unlike all of them, she has actual work to be doing even if she was with them, being jealous of Mac’s runner’s calves. “Not a lot, mind, but, a little.”

“I can work with a little,” Stacy says, and she smiles. “Don’t look so uptight, MacGyver, you’re in good hands. I ain’t gonna make you look like a clown.”

Mac just smiled sheepishly at her, hands tucked between his thighs, worrying with the double stitched hem of his dress. Bozer grins back at him from where he’s sitting, leather apron finally discarded and probably texting Leanna.

“Now, you said only a little, and to be fair, you ain’t gonna need a lot. Your skins pretty good, and your tan works for you, especially with your blonde hair, beach boy,” Stacy doesn’t even bother hiding her cackling as Bozer cracks up, Jill grinning from behind her tablet. Stacy moves away for a while, grabbing what she explains is face primer, which she smears on his face in the smallest amount, before dabbing the littlest amount of concealer which she dabs beneath his eyes to, as she says, “Conceal and brighten, obviously, duh.” 

Mac watches with the utmost interest as she gets a pen-like shape, something he’d seen Riley and Leanna wield on more than one occasion when they’d stayed over at Mac’s after indulging in more than their fair share of alcohol. 

“I’m gonna be a massive cliché and do you a soft brown eyeliner, yeah? I was gonna go blue, but as much as it would bring out your frankly gorgeous eyes, it’s gonna be a bit much with all the navy you’re rockin’ so-” She waggles the eyeliner pencil - stamped with what looks like _NYX Mechanical_ before she uncaps it - in Mac’s face, touching a gentle thumb and forefinger to his jaw and tipping his head up. “Keep your eyes open yeah? Gives it a much better line though it can be a little uncomfortable at first.”

“Can’t be any worse than blowing himself up.” Bozer muttered from the side. Mac can’t even side eye him which he finds supremely unfair. 

“Ever poked your eye with eyeliner or mascara?” Jill shot back without pause. “It isn’t pretty and _freakin’ hurts_.”

Mac thinks he’s going to take their word for it, especially since Stacy is the one who is currently wielding said hurting piece of make-up equipment dangerously close to his eyeball. It’s an odd feeling, definitely not bad, just particularly odd, feeling it smearing against his eyelids as she finishes them and then his waterline.

Mac blinked rapidly when she stepped back, trying not to smudge her work. He looks into the mirror, and see’s the flush rise in his cheeks when he sees how the soft brown liner makes his eyes look bluer, a slight wing to the eyelids reminiscent of Riley’s own eyeliner that she wears on a daily basis. 

“I love it, honestly.” He shoots a sincere smile at Stacy. 

She flushes just as he did, fist bumping him before turning away as if to hide her grin. She turns back around with what looks like a small tube of lipgloss, a pale peachy colour that has the words _NYX Matte Manila_ on it. That’s all he gets before she’s unscrewing the cap and telling him to open his mouth just a little - Bozer shoots Jill a disgusted look when she cackles at that - and to sit _very_ still again.

It’s the same odd sensation again, not bad, just odd. It’s a cool feeling against his mouth, over arching the cupid’s bow just a little to get some definition as Stacy explains, before filling in his bottom lip, following the lines of his mouth after the cupid’s bow.

She grins again when she steps back, not letting him see the finished product before she brings around a small palette coloured cream and rose gold, looking like a half eaten chocolate bar.

“I was gonna do blush,” She tells him, getting a small fanned brush out and dipping it into one of the powders and brushing off the excess. The liquid gold powder shimmers, iridescent and almost distracting, in the well lit lights of the room. “But highlight is gonna look freakin’ amazing on your skin.”

She gently feathers it on the tip and the topmost part of the bridge of his nose, the high arch of his cheek just on his socket, and then the smallest amount on where his temple curves up to meet his forehead. 

She messes with his hair just for a minute, rubbing what he thinks is mousse into her hands and making movements that she explains gives volume, curling the edges of his hair nearest his jaw around her fingers and parting his hair to the middle and tucking it behind his ears, before wiping her hand on the towel on the worktop station and grins.

Stacy, looking incredibly proud of herself, steps back, and lets Jill and Bozer look at Mac.

Jill drops her tablet on the floor and doesn’t even seem to realize. 

“ _Holy fuck_.” Bozer squeaks, phone dropping into his lap. 

“Jack is gonna be beatin’ everyone off you with a _stick_ ,” Jill declared loudly, bending down to pick up her thankfully uninjured tablet. Mac shot them both a dubious glance before looking in the mirror.

He doesn’t even recognise himself almost. His hair curls softly even more than usual, his mouth accentuated softly with the somewhat nude peach tone of the matte lipgloss, but it’s the highlight that ties it all together, a distracting shimmer that catches the light whenever he turns his head just right. He- he looks like the best version of himself that he ever could have thought of.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s stood, and that he’s grabbed Stacy’s hand to pull her close before he’s hugging her fiercely, and she’s hugging him just as tightly. 

“Thank you,” He says. “ _Thank you_.” Stacy doesn’t say anything, just pats him on the back and tightens her arms.

“ _Group hug!”_ Bozer yells, throwing his phone on the workstation top before lunging forward and pressing in between Mac and Stacy. Jill laughed, her work tablet getting the same treatment and worming her way in, opposite Bozer.

“Love you, guys.” Bozer says, muffled as it was by how his head was tucked somewhere into Mac’s armpit. 

  
  


Matty texts eventually that he needs to get his butt to the war room, two minutes into the longest group hug Mac has ever been a part of. 

Jill, Bozer, and Stacy get to go back to work and to what they were doing before Mac interrupted them all, keeping his bag of clothes under Bozer’s workstation in the wardrobe department, because if he’s going to have through all the trouble of dressing up and feeling the best he’s ever felt for a long time, he’s going to damn well rock it.

“Like I said, we’ll fuck anyone up.” Bozer had said on Mac’s departure, and Mac knew he was serious; hard to not take the boy who had tried to beat up Donnie in school for picking on Mac. 

He gets a little self conscious in the corridors on the way to the war room, especially with seeing the little glances he garners from people, but they all seem to be somewhat encouraging, even if not entirely enthusiastic, and Mac feels as good as he ever has, and keeps his head high and stride strong.

The war rooms floor to ceiling windows are frosted when Mac opens the door, but it’s just Matty sat on one of the brown leather chairs, tablet in hand and phone resting next to her. On the screen is a text of when Riley, Jack and Leanna should be touching down at the airbase five minutes away from the Phoenix Foundation. 

The text says that they should be arriving in ten minutes, dated six minutes ago. Mac can’t help the jump his heart gives.

“Heya, blondie,” Matty says without turning around. “I’ve just seen the files you sent, thank you for getting onto them. I know you’ve been tearing your hair out with the rest of the team gone and your not able to be with them.”

Mac’s heels don’t click against the hardwood floor as he strides over, slipping into what people have coined _his_ chair, to the left of Matty. 

“It’s not been too bad, only been a few hours.” 

Matty doesn’t even move but Mac has the sense she’s laughing at him. 

“Few hours too long usually, with you and Dalton,” She finally looks up at him, tablet blacked out and on the table. “Nice outfit, it suits you.”

Mac has to fight the urge to blush, and instead smooths out his skirt. 

“Thanks, Matty, Bozer had it made for me,” He touches the translucent frill a few inches beneath his clavicles again, feeling the flex of muscle and the move of bone beneath his fingers. “Impractical but, it’s pretty.”

“So long as you wear sensible clothes on missions, I could care less what or why you wear anything, blondie. Just know that if anyone harrasses you, tell me.”

Mac doesn’t even bother to ask _are you sure?_ because Matilda Webber doesn’t say anything she doesn’t mean, and whilst she may not like it entirely, there is a reason her nickname is Matty the Hun, and that Jack - a military Delta Force veteran and previous CIA spook - was almost _scared_ when he’d heard it was Matty, his old handler, who was going to be their new boss after Patti had betrayed then, spoke volumes. 

Mac stands up after a moment, gazing at the clock on his phone and feeling his legs start to get restless. He grabbed a handful of the paperclips out of the bowl by Matty’s blacked out tablet and immediately started bending them out of shape, staring out of the bullet proof glass overlooking the small part of the grounds that hadn’t been requisitioned by the botanics labs.

The door to the war room opening doesn’t make him drop what looks like a Delta Force insignia, but he does close his hands over it and tuck it into the windowsill in front of him.

Riley grins at him, rig in her hands and keeping the door open as Leanna and Jack pile in too. Riley and Leanna see him first, both shooting an encouraging thumbs up to him and making a hand gesture that he knows is _lookin’ good!_

Jack, who’d immediately turned to antagonising Matty because that’s the sort of man he is and because he knew he could get away with it, turns when Mac is a foot in front of him and Mac can _see_ when Jack realizes.

The blink of his dark eyes going darker, the clench of his jaw, the hitch of his chest. Mac _feels_ the slow slide of Jack’s eyes from his heels, to the bare inches of leg that Mac never really let anyone see, to the slow swish of the breezy skirt around his mid upper thigh.

Jack makes the most _indecent_ sound, almost a growl, when he sees the cinch of Mac’s waist, the bare delicacy of his clavicle that Jack likes to press bruises into with his mouth. The best part, Mac thinks, is when Jack notices the slick of lipgloss and highlighter, the way his hands fist and he takes an aborted step forward, as if he’s about to grab Mac and drag him away.

Riley makes a disgusted sound, because if there’s anything a person doesn’t want to see or hear, it’s their father figure getting it on with their partner and her brother figure.

“Oh, sweet merciful lord, have I died an’ gone to heaven?” It’s like the others aren’t even in the room. Mac noticed Leanna give Riley and Matty a look that he couldn’t be bothered to decipher and roll their eyes. “Because I see a vision of pure fuckin’ beauty in front of me, right ‘bout now.”

“Hey, Jack,” Mac can’t help the way he’s staring, having to stop himself from lunging towards Jack as well, seeing the swell of muscle through Jack’s leather jacket, the flex of his thighs through his jeans. Jack’s Texan twang was prominent when he was comfortable, but when he was aroused or sleepy, it became syrup thick and _gorgeous_. Mac is pretty sure Jack could talk dirty and he’d be able to come just from that.

“Oh for fuck sake,” Matty mutters in the background. “Just go home, horndogs, and don’t come back until you’re ready to work.”

“Matty,” Jack says gravely, even as his shoulders bunch beneath his leather jacket, hands reaching out to grab at Mac’s waist and pull him close. Mac half thought Jack was going to haul him over his shoulder with how he’s looking at Mac right about now. "You're an absolute angel."

Matty, who looks like she’d rather be anywhere than here, rolls her eyes. She’s so used to Jack’s flattery and comments, and the way that he’s looking at Mac as if he wants to dig his teeth in and never let go.

“Just get out of here and for God’s sake, Dalton, if you get _another_ indecent exposure charge, I’m dumping yours and Blondies ass all the way in Siberia after letting you stew in jail for a _week_.” 

Mac doesn’t even wait for Jack to move, just grabs his wrist, throwing a hasty goodbye and thanks over his shoulder as he and Jack slip from the war room. Matty doesn’t make idle threats about Siberia, even if she has a soft spot for them.

“Now, now, where we goin’, baby?” Jack murmurs as he presses Mac against the closed door in the cleared corridor, one big hand thumbing a soft line across Mac’s bottom lip and the other fiddling with the hem of Mac’s mid thigh length dress. He’s staring at Mac as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. The hand on his hem presses bruises against Mac’s thighs now, and Jack’s pressing close into the cradle of Mac’s hips, the hard press of his erection pressing against Mac’s.

Jack _smiles_ , wide and dark, and he hitches Mac’s leg up over his hip, _pressing_ as close as he can, hand on Mac’s chin creeping down to pressing against his throat, to his collarbone, pressing softly against the hollow of Mac’s throat.

“ _Jack_ , we-we need to get ho- _home_.” Mac honestly can’t say how he even has the brain functions to make Jack stop, he doesn’t _want_ Jack to stop, would probably let Jack hike up the dress and have his way with him here, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d never be able to walk into work again without thinking of it and would probably die of embarrassment if they were caught.

“We’re gettin’ there,” Jack says throatily, hand heavy on Mac’s throat and clavicle, five points of impossible branding pressure. “But you can’t expect me not to wanna touch you when you look fuckin’ gorgeous, baby, should be fuckin’ _illegal_ -”

It’s less of a kiss, more of a clash, all teeth and tongue, spit slick and Mac whimpers against Jack’s mouth when Jack _pins_ him against that wall, forced to balance on one leg and reliant on Jack, stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Fuck, one of these days, darlin’, I’m gonna fuck you in this, right up against my girl, gonna splay you against the hood, make you come so hard, fuck your cute little ass til you’re _cryin-”_

“Jack, _Jack_ -” Mac has to gasp it out, head resting against the wall even as Jack groans, trailing his mouth down to press the outline of teeth against Mac’s trembling jaw. “Home, _take me home_ -”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jack whispers, and takes his baby home.

The car ride back to Mac’s place is _uncomfortable_ , tension stricken, and Mac wants to put his mouth everywhere on Jack whilst Jack has a hand, white knuckled, on the steering wheel of his GTO and the other clamped on Mac’s shivering and naked thigh, knuckles rough and palm calloused enough that it makes Mac swallow heavily, leather sticking to the back Mac’s restless legs.

Thankfully, it only takes about forty five minutes, almost forty minutes too long, because Jack barely throws the car in park behind Mac’s jeep and turns off the engine before he’s turning to Mac, wild eyed and that wide, dark, _predatory_ grin on his face that makes Mac almost trip over his heels on the gravel.

“C’mon, darlin’,” Jack says, and he reels Mac in, big hands on his waist, clenching and releasing slowly, as if he needs to stop himself from doing something he’d regret before they get in the house. With his heels, he’s just the same height as Jack, though he’s not exactly a short man, and he has to stare straight into Jack’s eyes, feeling like he’s about to drown.” Gonna make you realize just how fuckin’ beautiful you are.”

They almost trip over the threshold, Mac grabbing Jack by the collar of his leather jacket, hauling him close. The kiss is just as good as the one they shared at Phoenix, desperate, exhilarating. Jack licks into Mac’s mouth, all tongue and teeth, spit slick and moaning. Jack’s hands are now gripping Mac’s waist, tight enough to almost leave bruises, and he thinks that’s the only thing that keeps him upright, feeling the steel hardness of Jack’s dick against his thigh and _moans._

The door thuds shut when Jack kicks at it absentmindedly, and Mac can’t help the way he moans as Jack slips his hands down Mac’s thigh, delicate with the fabric even as he then jerks Mac up into his arms by the grip on the back of Mac’s thighs. He _hauls_ Mac up with nothing but sheer strength and Mac can’t help the absolutely _embarrassing_ noise he makes in the back of his throat, clinging to the back of Jack’s leather jacket, legs wrapped tightly, feet strangely heavy with his heels, ankles delicate in ways they’ve never felt before.

 _Fuck_ , Jack knows that his strength gets him going.

Jack _grins_ up at him, again, fingers pressing bruises against Mac’s ass from where he’s slipped them underneath Mac’s dress, mouth _devouring_ Mac’s, all teeth and tongue still, panting into each others mouth as Mac tries to get closer, sweat slick down his spine and cock harder than it’s ever been. 

They don’t get far, not even a few steps in the house, before Mac feels the edge of the side just by the door against his thighs, and Jack's hands are shoving Mac’s dress up, smearing across his skin and _yanking_ Mac’s briefs down. Mac’s fingers keep getting caught in Jack’s leather jacket, overwhelmed with the amount of passion Jack’s giving him, muscles bunching beneath his shirt.

“Look at _you_ , darlin’,” Jack’s eyes keep roving, hands clenching and releasing again, as if he doesn’t know what he wants to look at or touch first. “You dress up all pretty for ol’ Jackie?”

He doesn’t even get the chance to answer, Mac whimpering in the back of his throat when Jack dips his head, scraping his teeth over Mac’s jaw, tonguing at the birthmark just beneath, nipping at his chin. A hand threw Mac’s briefs over Jack’s shoulder before it palms at his jaw, thumb tipping his chin even as Jack’s fingers snag at the curls of Mac’s hair.

Chin tilted, Mac lets out an embarrassing sound, a high pitched whimpering moan when Jack presses his mouth to Mac’s bobbing adam’s apple, fits his _teeth_ around it and _bites_. Nails digging into the leather jacket, Mac tries to crawl one hand down Jack’s belly, messing with his belt, trying to get it undone, fumbling with it uncharacteristically, but Jack’s at his clavicles now, one hand still tipping Mac’s head back, the other pressing bruises beneath the delicate skin of his collarbone, groaning every time Mac’s hand brushes against his hard dick.

“Jack, oh _god_ , Jack-” He tries to shove his hips forward, but the hand at Mac’s jaw slips into his hair, knotting in the strands and _gripping_ , yanking Mac’s head back until he has to stare at the ceiling, panting through his nose. It hurts, sweet little spots of pain, but not enough that he wants to cry, just enough to make fire slip down his spine, enough to make his chest _heave_ , cock almost uncomfortably hard between his spread thighs. 

Jack has always known the best way to make Mac fall apart, even before they were even together.

“Shhhh, honey,” Jack murmurs, and he manhandles Mac’s head so Mac stares at him, sees the clench of Jack’s jaw, the way his eyes are blown wide, _God_ he looks so fucking hot, like he wants to _eat_ Mac. Mac honestly wants him too. “Now, darlin’, we’ve got two ways we can do this; one, right here and now, I’m gonna suck your cute little cock and then fuck you in this pretty dress and you’re gonna take it like the good girl I know my darlin’ is, _or,_ I’m gonna go over to that couch and bend you over it and _fuck_ your gorgeous ass until you’re leakin and numb, just how you like it, _cryin’_ your eyeliner off.”

Jack leans forward, taking care not to press against Mac’s steadily leaking cock, a damp spot on the front of Mac’s daisy summer dress, hand still gripping Mac’s hair, the other creeping up Mac’s bare thigh, pressing his thumb against the arch of Mac’s hipbone, nail _just_ biting in enough to make Mac shiver.

“What’s it gonna be, honey?” Jack’s eyes are burning, dark and heavy lidded, cheeks flushed. Jack looks like he wants nothing more than to be already balls deep in Mac, and Mac just _wants_ him, anyway he can get him. “Tell me.”

Mac honestly just wants Jack to shut the fuck up and put his cock in him already, muscles clenching as he tries to pull Jack in by his shoulders, nails digging into the sturdy leather jacket. But Jack is stalwart, doesn’t move only to grab Mac by the wrists, collecting them in one hand, sturdy and unbreakable. He cups the other around Mac’s chin, smears it against his spit slick bottom lip, thumbing it down to see the flash of Mac’s teeth.

“ _Jack_ , _please just-_ ” He chokes on his own tongue almost when Jack uses the thumb on his lip to force his way into his mouth, uses the pad of his thumb to press Mac’s tongue to the bottom of his mouth. Mac moans, sucks on it lightly, tasting salt and gunpowder.

“ _Tell. me_.” Jack’s eyes are dark, dangerous, a fire almost unbanked. Electricity shoots down Mac’s spine, he’s wet between his thighs like a girl, cock leaking steadily just from this, legs trying to bring Jack closer against his body. He doesn’t even try to move his wrists from where they’re folded against his chest. He’s pinned, a butterfly under inspection.

“F-first one-” He stutters, chest heaving. Jack’s all encompassing, surrounding him so easily. He’s easily dominating and Mac’s suddenly realizing fully just what that can mean as Jack pauses, bottom lip thumbed down again, still spit slick from Mac’s own saliva. “ _P_ _lease_.”

Desperate, like he only gets when it’s Jack.

“ _Good girl_ ,” Jack says, and the grit in his voice and the praise- if Mac was standing he’d have fallen, legs weak and jelly like. “You’re gonna keep your hands on my shoulders, and you’re not gonna move, because if you do, this _stops_ , capiche?”

“Ye-yeah,” Mac stutters like he hasn’t in years, hands curling against Jack’s leather jacket, squirming against the side he’s perched on.

God, one of the hottest things about this is that they’re both still fully dressed; Jack’s still in his fucking _leather jacket_. Mac is never going to be able to look at this leather jacket without thinking of this moment again, is never going to be able to look at the little crescents Mac’s biting into the shoulders with his nails without thinking of this.

 _This_ , when Jack falls to his knees, pressing kisses to Mac’s trembling thighs, big hands coming up to almost _yank_ Mac’s legs apart, shouldering in between them, making room for himself as if Mac wouldn’t already open himself up for Jack in all the ways that did and didn’t matter.

Hiking Mac’s skirt up, big hands pawing at Mac’s cock like Jack can’t wait to fit his mouth around him. Fingers curling into the meat of Mac’s ass, and Mac has to clench his fingers tighter over the bulk of Jack’s shoulder, spine curving inwards over Jack’s head as Jack-

Fuck, as Jack swallows him down, wet and velvety, the little sting of teeth that scrape beneath the vein of his cock head, zero to a thousand in no seconds at all. Jack growled, moaning around Mac’s cock and Mac _squeaks_ , eyes clenched shut, spine twisting, thighs clenching shut but- but oh- _oh fuck-_

Jack’s shoulders are too broad, too _strong_ that Mac doesn’t stand a chance, open and almost helpless by Jack’s sheer strength and bulk, splayed open and _kept_ open.

Jack _sucks_ , one of his hands coming up to wrap around what he couldn’t fit in his mouth, and Mac _trembles,_ mouth agape and eyes clenched shut further, chest heaving as Jack clamps down on the base of his cock, keeps him from coming, pulls him from the edge that Jack’s strength had almost shoved him over.

Jack moves his other hand, uses it to haul Mac’s left leg over his shoulder, and Mac whines through gritted teeth, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, feeling the hollowing of Jack’s cheeks, the slight bob of his head, the way his shoulders are bunching, rolling beneath the leather jacket, the slick sweat of his temple, the _burn_ of his beard between Mac’s thighs. He wants to fucking cry, it feels so good, and Jack isn’t _letting_ him come, is making him _wait_ -

He pulls off, breathing heavily and Mac _cries_ out, hands still on Jack’s shoulders, bending in on himself with how good Jack makes him feel and Jack _laughs_ , cock rough and unrepentant.

“I know you keep lube in the kitchen,” Jack says instead of all the ways he looks like he wants to kiss Mac stupid. “Where?”

Mac is still breathless, unable to unclench his fingers because of the absolute _whiplash_ Jack sent him in, stomach swooping. A hand touches his chin, lifts his head up, Jack ducks his own head, face and eyes concerned.

“Hey, baby,” Jack says, voice soft. “You alright up there?” He taps Mac’s forehead with his own, noses just touching. Mac leans into him, thighs and arms shaking. Jack’s stooped over half way now, comfortingly bulky, and Mac’s legs are able to wrap around his hips, holding him close.

Mac’s fingers finally unclench, stretching out on Jack’s leather clad shoulder. 

“Uh huh,” Mac hums, swaying forward so he can tuck his face into Jack’s neck, burrowing there as his back stops spasming, fingers crawling beneath Jack’s leather jacket, fisting around his worn soft t-shirt. “Just- overwhelmed, i think.”

“We can stop if you like,” Jack murmurs, nose buried in Mac’s hair, pressing a comforting kiss to Mac’s temple. “We can put on comfy clothes, watch Die Hard and eat our weight in pizza if you wanna.”

Mac shakes his head as best as he can, fingers and legs tightening to keep Jack from moving. Mac leans his head up, presses a kiss against Jack’s scruff covered jaw. 

“Just in-intense,” He murmurs, curls further into Jack as Jack slips a hand around his waist, holding him close, as if it’s only them, as if everything can fall apart and Jack wouldn’t care, so long as they were safe. “But- kiss me?”

“Of course, darlin’,” Jack murmurs. “You don’t ever need to ask me that.”

Jack dips his head, slipping his free hand to Mac’s jaw, uses it to tilt Mac’s head up and to the side so Jack can nudge their noses together softly, corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiles before kissing Mac, soft, gentle. 

Mac moans softly, back arching so he’s further in Jack’s embrace, opening up as Jack pressed his tongue against Mac’s button lip, nipping at Jack’s in playful retaliation and making him groan, pressing closer, the arm around his waist pulling Mac infinitely closer, as if there’s anywhere he’d want to be other than _here_. He can _feel_ Jack’s heart, pounding, rabbiting in his chest, and the way he’s sweating in his leather jacket, t-shirt a little damp on his sides and armpits.

 _God_ , Mac _loves_ it when Jack sweats; the way he glistens, how his muscles _move_ , the _smell_ of him-

“I love you,” Jack says, forehead to forehead, eyes dark with arousal but soft. “So damn much.”

“I love you too, big guy.” Mac smiles, pressing the faintest kiss to Jack’s mouth again, feels the way Jack clenches his jaw as Mac grinds against his hard cock, trapped in Jack’s unforgiving jeans.

Jack groans, dropping his head onto Mac’s shoulder as Mac finally manages to undo Jack’s belt, undoes his fly and button and dips his hand in, Mac himself shuddering as he wraps his fingers around Jack’s steel silk cock, hard and _hot_ , wet at the tip when Mac pushes his foreskin back.

“Want you in me,” Mac murmurs, _twisting_ his wrist as he slowly wanks Jack off, palm already slick with pre-come, tilts his head so he can nip at Jack’s scruff, rubs his cheek against it to feel the scratch of it, knows he’s going to look like he’s been three rounds with a scrubber tomorrow. “Want you to-to-”

Fuck, he doesn’t think he can get the words out, to just lay out what exactly he wants Jack to finish doing with him, the way he’d _keened_ when Jack had called him _his_ good girl, had took control, had took Mac so in hand that he’d slipped out of his mind and _panicked_ because of how fucking good it felt. He falls silent, lets the slick weight of Jack’s cock in his head distract him, thinks of how much he wants Jack in him, filling him up, unable to really say the words.

Jack takes it out of his hands, like he’s always doing, like he knows Mac better than he knows himself. Mac’s never really thought of himself as reliant upon someone else, as letting his barriers down and letting someone slip beneath his skin like Jack has managed to, but this is _Jack_ , Jack who’d once looked Mac in the eye and snarled _“don’t you know a lost cause when you see one_ ?” and Mac had looked at him back and said “ _no”_ , had said “ _i’m going to help you”_ , had thought “ _i’m going to make sure you live”_ and Jack had done the same.

Jack’s hands are on his thighs again, slipped beneath his dress, clenching and releasing. 

“You want me to do what I said? Want to sit on my dick, right here and now? Want me to fuck you while we’re fully clothed and you’re gonna be the goodest girl you can be while I fuck you, yeah? Gonna be good for ol’ Jackie?” Jack’s pushing his hips into Mac’s hand, slowly fucking his hand, even as he sneaks a hand up Mac’s own leg, big hand touching Mac’s spit slick cock and _twisting_ slowly, swallowing Mac’s gasp in his own mouth as Jack kisses him gently, tongue slicking across his bottom lip.

“Can you be a good girl for me, Mac?” Jack asks him, and the way he draws back, motionless now, makes it obvious he wants an answer.

“Y-yes.” Mac moans, tries to thrust his hips forward, legs pulling at Jack’s thighs from where he’s wrapped around them, but Jack is solid and heavy, an immovable force.

“Say it, darlin’, I know you want to.” Jack’s voice is throaty, sex rough and gravel deep. Mac’s not going to last long if Jack keeps sounding like that.

“I’-I’ll be a good girl.” Mac gasps, swaying forward and pressing an open mouthed kiss to Jack’s jaw.

“I know you will be, honey. Now, will my good girl tell me where the lube is that I know is kept in the kitchen?” The way Jack says _good girl_ shouldn’t be as hot as it is, especially in that syrup thick Texan lilt.

Mac doesn’t say anything, instead reaching around, making a sad noise when he has to let go of Jack and Jack has to let go of him, reaching into the drawer just behind them. Mac feels the metallic packets and hesitates, shooting a look at Jack through his eyelashes.

“No condoms?” Mac asks, and Jack’s chest heaves, eyes growing dark.

“Only if you don’t want them, darlin’, I don’t mind.” 

Mac makes sure that Jack can see the way Mac licks his lips, dropping the condoms back into the drawer. If Mac is getting railed properly tonight, he’s going to do it so he has Jack’s come wet on his thighs after.

Jack doesn’t even give him a chance, just _tears_ his own belt and trousers open, eyes darker than Mac’s seen them, jaw tense as he snakes a hand beneath Mac’s knee’s and _yanks_ Mac to him, so his ass is balanced on the edge and he’s forced to rely on Jack for his balance.

The next few moments are almost a blur, just the feel of one of Jack’s hand gripped the nape of his neck, tangling in the strands of hair there, mouth _devouring_ Mac’s as he rips the lube packet open, the way Jack physically shoulders Mac’s thighs open, propping them up on his hip so Mac is even more reliant on him.

The first press of Jack’s slicked finger to his hole knocks him loose, makes the world focused again, technicolour in how he moans, gut deep and almost desperate, the slick sound of his mouth disconnecting from Jack is loud in his ears, forehead landing on Jack’s nail bitten leather shoulder, the pressure of how Jack’s finger slides into him, _crooking_ just a little and making sparks twist down Mac’s spine.

“ _Fuck_ , you feel so good, honey,” Jack growls, mouth pressed right next to Mac’s temple, probably tasting of highlighter, but kissing there roughly, resting there, panting, just as desperate as Mac. “Goin’ to feel so good wrapped around my cock, ain’tcha, darlin’?”

Mac doesn’t respond, legs spread almost to the point of pain, teetering on the edge of falling and needing Jack to keep him steady. Mac knows about predicament bondages, knows more than he ever thought and wanted to know and even experienced of stress positions, but something about this, reliant on something outside his control and _liking_ it, of _allowing_ Jack to put him into this position makes it both the hardest and the easiest thing he’s ever done.

He moans, high pitched, fever wanting. He’s on the line of too much and yet not enough, wants to be cradled in Jack’s arms, wants the hard cock he can feel, a thick line of wet hotness against his line through Jack’s boxers _in him_ already, wants to feel Jack in the back of his _throat_ -

The slick press of another finger, just on this side of too much, Jack’s other hand coming to grip his hair, tilt his head back to _bite_ , teeth a line of branding, on fire pressure around Mac’s bobbing adam’s apple that has Mac _moaning_ , desperate, a hand clenching around Jack’s wrist just to feel the flex of those muscles, the leather cuff catching on his nails.

“ _J-Jack_ ,” Mac pants, head back and body bared with all the trust he has in his lover, desperate and wanting in a way he only ever seens to get with Jack, when Jack plays his body like a finely tuned piano. “Ahh- _please_ -”

Jack _laughs,_ low and dark and _dirty_ , pressed up tight against Mac’s throat, the hand in Mac’s hair slipping down until it’s resting heavily in the curve of Mac’s waist, big and warm, a carefully possessive touch that has Mac leaning even further into Jack, feeling the electricity twisting his spine as Jack gently bites at the hinge of Mac’s trembling jaw, mouth wet and open as he gasps Jack’s name, hips stuttering.

“Sound just as good as you feel,” Jack growls against his ear, scruff itching against Mac’s temple, the clench of his cheekbone. “No matter how many times I feel this, can’t wait to have my cock in you-”

“Fuck- _Jack_ , you can’t just s- _ah_ -ay things like that.” Mac moans, hands gripping the hem of Jack’s leather jacket that he’s still wearing, like Mac’s not already on a hair trigger.

“What, that I can’t wait to fuck you, that I can’t wait to get my dick so far into you that you’re gonna fuckin’ _taste_ it, that if I could, I’d fuck you against those windows just so all your neighbours could see how fucking _pretty_ my good girl looks taking my cock?” Jack sounds _wrecked_ , voice heady and dark, crooking his lubed fingers inside of Mac and making him _choke_ on his next breath. “That I shouldn’t say that I want to _bend_ you over every surface of this house and make you _cry_ because it feels so good? That I already have and would do it again because how fuckin’ _beautiful_ you looked begging for me? I shouldn’t say _what_ , honey?”

Mac’s next words are lost to the desperate yell he has no control over as Jack does _something_ with his wrist, slipping a third finger into Mac, crowded and deliciously full, and he’d let his head drop forward onto Jack’s shoulder if it weren’t for the tight grip Jack still had on his hair, nails scratching his scalp comfortingly even as Jack tugs on his hair, enough that Mac’s eyes clenched shut, glassy and tear filled at the pressure that makes his cock jump and thighs tremble.

He’s speechless, mouth gaping open, eyes shut tightly, and one of his hands go to clench around Jack’s leather cuff, clinging to the smooth fabric even as he feels the muscles as Jack finger fucks him, grinding them right up against his prostate, making Mac choke, fingers tightening. He’s so fucking close to coming but Jack is keeping him right on that edge, and he’d get his hand around Jack’s cock if it weren’t the fact that he can’t even _think_ straight.

Jack hums against his ear, pressing a light kiss to Mac’s temple, even as Mac pants desperately against the shaved side of Jack’s head, hips twitching as Jack keeps the hard pressure on Mac’s prostate up, electricity shooting through his spine, stars appearing before his eyes, pressure building at the base of his belly.

“ _J_ _ack, Jack_ \- I’m gon-gonna- _no!”_ He _yells_ the last word, fingers tightening what must be to almost pain as Jack _stops_ , fingers nowhere near his prostate now, leaving him with no way to tip over the _edge_ , just spread open and full but not full _enough_ . “No _, Jack_ , please, goddamnit-”

“No, Mac,” Jack says, and his fingers are suddenly gone, leaving Mac gaping and empty, the hand he’d had in Mac pulling his red, leaking cock out and the other on one of Mac’s thigh, big and warm, squeezing Mac’s thigh and making him shiver at the sheer _strength_ he can feel behind that grip. “No darlin’, I told you you was gonna come on my cock or nothin’, and I meant it.”

“ _Then get in me, bastard_.” It’s more of an actual growl than anything else, something desperate that makes Jack laugh low in his throat, twisting his hand as he lubes his gorgeous cock up, not even having properly opened his boxers up. God, if Jack doesn’t get in him right fucking now Mac is going to have to do something desperate.

“C’mon honey, good things come to those who wait.” Jack is such an asshole, as if his eyes aren’t wide like they are and his cock isn’t hard enough to break his zipper, Mac is going _insane_.

Mac’s eyes go wide, and he feels a little like he’s going to pounce on Jack if Jack doesn’t move, but there heavy weight of Jack’s big hand on his thigh is enough to keep him here, even if Mac’s hands are tugging on Jack’s leather jacket, trying to get him close enough to touch.

“Shhh, honey, I know, lemme-” Jack effortlessly manhandles Mac, and it makes _heat_ spike up his spine like Jack manhandling anything does, and _then_. _Then_ Jack’s cockhead is pressed against his hole, foreskin pulled back, hot and leaking, like a brand against Mac’s skin.

The first push is _incredible_. It makes Mac _moan,_ mouth gaping open, eyes fluttering, feeling the firm pressure as Jack _slides_ inside, slick and wet and burning hot, silk covered steel that Mac feels like he’s already choking on. Jack’s so fucking _thick_. His cock twitches against his belly, leaving smears on the dress that Jack’s kept pushed up against his hips, he feels like he could come from just this, from just Jack _pressing_ into him, like he belongs there, like he’s everything that Mac never needed but _wanted._

Jack keeps going, a steady pressure that gives Mac no time to breathe, a constant push that has Mac moaning, head falling onto Jack’s shoulder even as his hands grip at the edge of the side, legs trembling. He’s so fucking full, blissful with it.

“ _Fuck_ -” Jack chokes on his own groan, and he grips Mac’s hips, his waist in his big hands, like he’s not sure if he wants to move or _can’t_ . “Fuck, _darlin’_ , you feel so fuckin’ _good_ -”

One of Mac’s hands slips up to hold tight at the back of Jack’s head, gripping his nape, shuddering, spine _arching_ as Jack slips in even more, too much and yet not enough, full of Jack and wanting _more_ in ways that are still so new to both of them.

“ _J_ _ack_ ,” Mac doesn’t know how he gets the energy to speak, just that it’s more a whimper than anything else, pressing his forehead harder against Jack’s shoulder, twisting until he’s whimpering and moaning into Jack’s neck, and Jack is clutching him tightly, an arm around his waist and the other holding tightly onto Mac’s trembling thigh. “Jack, move, move please, you need to-”

Jack _growls_ , deep and low, almost _possessive_. But he _moves_. He thrusts forward, balls deep, a heavy pressure that Mac can _feel_ it in his gut, in the scratch of denim against his bare thighs, the way Jack keeps hiking his dress up, clutching at it and Mac’s thighs, and it makes Mac feel more exposed than anything, even with Jack, bulky and big, between his trembling legs.

Jack groans again, burying his face into Mac’s shoulder, balls deep still and not moving properly, just doing little grinds that end up crushed up against Mac’s prostate, has him seeing sparks behind his half lidded eyes, has him clutching desperately at Jack’s shoulder and nape, has him limp and shaking. Jack pulls out, half way, barely moving still, and then thrusts forward, and it's this barely there movement but it still takes Mac’s breath away, has him clenching his eyes shut, mouth gaping open in a desperate moan.

“Mac, baby, you feel so fuckin’ _tight_ , so good around me, darlin’.” Jack sounds just like he does when he’s woken up, all gravelly and rough, fucking _gorgeous_ as he pants into Mac’s throat, pressing soft kisses there, against the bruises that Jack’s probably already pressed into his skin with eager teeth and tongue. 

The next thrust is just as overwhelming, a jerk in and out, Jack unable to stop the guttural groan that bubbles in his throat and echoes in Mac’s ear as Mac _gasps_ , twisting his hips to try and get closer. It’s a constant, aching pressure against his prostate, wildfire in his veins and Jack’s thick dick feeling like it’s lodged against the back of his throat.

“So fuckin’ beautiful like this baby, absolutely amazin’,” Jack gasps, movements never stopping, quick rabbit-like moves of his hips, never really moving from Mac, still this heady and heavy gut-deep pressure, like Jack’s physically got a hand inside of him, and it makes him whimper, makes him moan, makes him writhe on Jack’s cock like Jack swore he was going to make him do. “Like that, sweetheart? _God_ , you like fuckin’ yourself on my cock, Mac?”

“ _Ye-ahh-yeah_ ,” Mac gasps, a hand dropping to Jack’s hip, fisting in the loose denim there and _hauling_ Jack closer, throwing his head back with a yell as it shoves Jack _deeper_ , balls deep, feeling the heavy press of Jack’s girth almost _splitting_ him open, his cock boiling hot and _hard_ , so fucking _hard._ “So good, Jack, oh _god,_ please-”

“Please _what_ , sweetheart?” Jack pants, chest heaving, teeth bared as he snakes a hand into Mac’s messed up hair, _yanking_ on it enough to make redness spread over Mac’s chest as Mac _moans_ , desperate, fucking himself on Jack’s cock, staring straight at Jack. “Tell me, Mac, wanna-wanna hear you, _fuck_!”

Jack’s fucking him, furious thrusts of his hips that has Mac holding on to the side for dear life, has his feet and his heavy high heels clutching tight at Jack’s waist, his hips, trying to just fucking hold on. 

Mac _shouts_ when Jack doesn’t even pause, just drops his hand from Mac’s hair and _hauls_ Mac into his arms, staggering back with Mac in his arms, dropped fully down on his dick. Mac can’t help the strangled cry that he buries into Jack’s neck, arms clamped tight around Jack’s shoulders, eyes clenched, feeling the wetness of his own tears against his cheeks; _fuck_ , he can feel Jack in the back of his throat, like he’s choking on him, especially when Jack _jostles_ him, bounces him once, twice on his cock, Mac’s hole _clinging_ to Jack’s dick, like it doesn’t want it to leave, like Mac’ll fucking _die_ if Jack doesn’t keep fucking him.

“Jack-fuck, _Jack_.” it sounds like he’s hyperventilating, like he can’t get enough oxygen, but it just feels so fucking good, knowing that the only thing keeping him up is Jack, is Jack’s _strength_ , and how Jack _knows_ he can carry Mac, even like this, squirming and desperate, a star of hotnes slowly spiralling at the base of Mac’s stomach, muscles taut, cock rubbing up against Jack’s belly, smearing pre-come against his v-neck, leather jacket and jeans _biting_ into the soft, vulnerable skin of Mac’s thighs, dressed hitched up out of the way.

Jack’s smearing bruises into his skin with his hands, how he’s clutching Mac’s ass, the way he’s got an arm clenched tightly around Mac’s waist, keeping him close, hauled close and kept balanced, like Mac can ever forget that he’s not in control, that Jack has him so thoroughly turned out on his cock that he’s fucking _sobbing_ , choking on it as he tries so hard not to come too soon. His head is buried in Jack’s leather jacket, forehead pressing against the sweat slick skin of Jack’s throat, feeling the scrape of beard and stubble, feeling the way Jack’s chest heaves, how his arms _strain,_ the pull and push of muscle as he literally fuck’s Mac using nothing but his _sheer strength._

It was all he could do to hold on, prostate under constant abuse as Jack kept hitching his hips forward, just this thick invasion that had Mac twisting, squirming, _sobbing_ , he’s got no control, has no choice but to hold on, to be used, to let Jack make him come so hard he’s seeing stars, and _fuck_ , Jack said he was going to fuck him til he cried, til he came so hard he screamed, and he is, _he is_ -

It’s Jack’s growl, the way he hauls Mac even closer, finger tips biting into Mac’s ass and waist, the way he _moans_ into Mac’s ear, pressing his trembling mouth to Mac’s temple, how he _breathes_ the word “ _darlin’_ ,” against Mac’s skin that tips Mac over.

Mac comes, mouth gaping and a small whimper pressing against Jack’s shoulder, legs clenching around Jack, and squeezing a groan out of him. Mac’s fingers clench tighter, leather beneath his hands. He’s made a mess of his dress, of Jack’s v neck, but Jack is-

Jack is still going, still hot and hard and _thick_ inside of him, still hitting his prostate, and it _hurts_ in the best way possible, tremors shaking Mac’s entire body, making him shiver in Jack’s arm, hole clenching harder on Jack’s dick, moaning softly at the feeling. Jack _groans_ , and Mac feels the muscles in his arm _clench_ as if he’s trying to get Mac closer, trying to haul Mac further into his arms but Mac’s as close as can be.

“ _Jack_ .” Mac moans, pressing an open mouthed kiss to Jack’s throat, licking at the sweat he can taste there, salty on his tongue and though he’s quickly becoming far too sensitive, the thought of Jack _using_ him like this, fucking into him when Mac has finished and already come, makes his cock give a valiant twitch.

“ _Shit_ , Mac, Mac baby- you feel so good, oh _god,_ can I-” Jack doesn’t even finish his sentence, just buries his face into Mac’s sweat damp hair, clutching at him desperately. Mac chokes back on his own moan, shivering as Jack twists his hips.

“Yeah, yeah do it, fuck, wanna- wanna feel you come in me, Jack, _please_.”

Jack groans, low and deep, right into Mac’s ear, open mouthed and panting as hot wetness spurts inside of Mac; he can _feel_ how Jack’s dick twitches, the way it pulses against Mac’s lube and now come wet hole, how he _fills_ Mac.

“ _Mac_.” Jack groans, hips still thrusting as he _empties_ himself into Mac, the hot wetness of it that Mac can feel, legs trembling enough that Jack staggers back against the front door, Mac still in his arms, still dick deep and come wet in Mac as he sinks down to the floor, legs splayed out with Mac cradled to his chest, straddling him.

They sit there for the longest time, Jack’s arms still tightly wrapped around Mac’s waist as they breathe heavily. Mac’s gone limp, Jack still buried in him and liking the stretch of it, and he lifts his head, pressing a soft kiss to Jack’s lax jaw.

“I love you.” Mac says, quiet, as if he doesn’t want to shatter anything between them. Jack sighs softly, and he turns his head, lifts a hand from Mac’s waist to cup at his jaw, to palm his cheek and caress the thin flesh beneath Mac’s eyes with his steady thumb.

“Love you too, darlin’,”Jack murmurs, and his eyes are heavy lidded, sweat on his brow, but he’s still so gentle. “Love you so much.”

Jack lifts Macs head with his hand, pressing a kiss to the thin flesh of Mac’s closed eyelids, the tip of their noses touching gently before Jack kisses him, softly. Like Mac is precious, spun glass and fear and trust issues. Jack deepens the kiss just as slowly as they’d started to kiss, slicks a slow line against Mac’s bottom lip, presses forward gently as Mac opens up, lets him in as if Jack doesn’t already have Mac spread out and open around him. Mac moans lowly, a hand fisting in Jack’s sullied shirt, the other creeping up to Jack’s neck, feeling the thrum of Jack’s slowing pulse.

Jack pulls back, reluctant, but he’s holding Mac’s face in both his hands again, staring at Mac as if he’s never seen him before. He doesn’t pull back far, enough that when Jack’s tongue peaks out to wet his lips it catches Mac’s too.

“You look beautiful,” Jack says, and he’s got that serious furrow between his brow that Mac generally only sees when he’s on missions, or talking to or about Papa Dalton. “I need you to know that, darlin’. I just- I know it probably don’t mean a fat lot comin’ from me since it’s your decision, but i just need ya to know that I love you so fuckin’ much and _nothin_ ’ what anyone says will change that.”

Mac can’t say anything for the longest time, throat catching. 

He’d known, intrinsically, that Jack had liked it when he wore what was socially and conventionally labelled as _‘women’s clothes_ ’, and that Jack hadn’t cared, that when Mac had whispered to Jack, on the Phoenix Jet when they’d been injured and two months away from being in what was the best thing of Mac’s life, about how he felt...not _wrong_ , but different. That he didn’t feel like a he, but not always a she either, and how Jack had reached over, had clutched at Mac’s shaking hands, had hauled Mac into his chest and hugged him there for the entire two hours that it took for them to touch down. 

Jack had said, roughly, in Mac’s tousled hair that he didn’t care, that Mac was his friend, was everything that Jack had ever wanted, and would always be by Mac’s side, and that if he never figured it out, or even if he figured it out in the next two seconds, _Jack_ would be there, and nothing would ever change that. And Mac believed him.

Had believed him in ways that Mac had believed in Jack like he always had. Since Afghanistan. Since DXS, since knowing that Jack had reupped for another tour for _him_ , because they were tangled up in each others ribs and could never be excavated from another’s heart and soul.

Mac doesn’t say anything, because there’s nothing he can say that he hasn’t already said, and he thinks Jack can see, in his face, in his eyes, in the way that he falls forward, lets his forehead rest against Jack’s, body shaking, trembling.

“I love you, so fucking much, Jack Dalton.” Mac says, not like it’s a secret, but like it’s been imprinted on his soul, on his tongue. Like loving Jack Wyatt Dalton is the most easiest thing in the universe and Mac had been stupid to think that Jack could have ever _not_ loved him.

Jack grins, and kisses him again, just as slow, just as gentle, big hands on Mac’s face.


End file.
